


It's Only In My Head

by pherryt



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Dreams, Dreamsharing, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing secrets, Smut, deaf!Clint, side Stony, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Bucky Barnes might have a bit of a crush on Clint Barton, fellow Avenger and human disaster, but that was something that wouldneverhappen. Not in real life, anyway. Bucky wasn't that lucky.But his dreams were something else entirely...





	It's Only In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> for the Bucky Barnes Bingo Square: Kink - masturbation  
Winterhawk Square - Dreamsharing

Bucky had had a crush on Clint Barton for so long, he hadn’t noticed when _it _started.

When his dreams were already eaten up by visions of Hawkeye dancing in his head, the fact that they’d _changed_ hadn’t been any more alarming than, say, the fact that Steve had jumped out of a plane without a parachute again.

Which was to say, expected, though ill advised.

Because this – this _crush_ on his fellow sniper, who was also one of the deadliest sharpshooters Bucky had ever known and who was also, somehow, a human disaster at the same time– _this _was most definitely ill advised.

And somehow, someway, Clint Barton was completely oblivious to Bucky’s love sick pining.

Which was good. Because Bucky had a feeling that Clint would laugh in his face – okay, no. Clint wasn’t that mean. But Clint would bumble through an embarrassing, mortifying explanation of why they just couldn’t be like that, and he’d go red as a beet and trip over his own feet and scald himself with his coffee all while trying to avoid getting too close to Bucky – in case he got the wrong idea – and it would be endearingly stupid and absolutely, 100 percent, heartbreaking.

When Bucky’s nightmares had turned into dreams of Clint, he’d fully embraced them, happy to end that shitshow with something much more pleasant.

They were simple, at first. Remembering the day if they’d interacted, or dreaming up stupid, domestic shit like cuddling on a couch or going out dancing. Even in his head, dream Clint had been adorably and unbelievably clumsy, but once Bucky had showed him a few steps, dream Clint gotten all too graceful, moving in that sinewy, fluid way that Bucky usually only saw from Clint during practice or on the battlefield.

It was breathtaking to see in real life and just as breathtaking in his dreams.

And because it was a dream, one thing led to another, so much easier there than real life – in real life, Bucky seemed to have lost all his ease and charm. In real life, he was much too terrified to look Clint in the eyes too long or even _think _about asking Clint to step out with him.

But a dream was a dream and nobody needed to know what Bucky dreamed. And dream Clint certainly didn’t object to a kiss or three or anything further. Why would he? He was just a dream.

Bucky was well and truly fixated on Clint, that’s what it was.

It was getting worse too.

All those dream liaisons where things definitely got a little friskier were starting to bleed over into real life. Bucky would catch a wide beaming smile, or the dexterous movements of Clint’s fingers, a flex of his biceps as he drew back that stupid (it wasn’t stupid) bow and he’d _ache_ to take Clint in his arms the way he did in his dreams.

It was so bad, that he’d had to literally flee the briefing room after a mission, had taken to avoiding Clint in the communal areas.

Bucky would retreat to his room, lock the door and take himself in hand to relieve the tension.

At this rate, Clint would start thinking Bucky was avoiding him (which was the truth) because Bucky hated him, when that was _so _far from the truth it wasn’t funny. But seeing Clint and holding back the urge to kiss him and undress him and see if he was just was beautiful, just as responsive and loud as Bucky’s dreams had made him out to be?

It was so.

Fucking.

_Hard._

Bucky bit his lip, his head thudding back against his door, his Tac pants opened and shoved halfway down his thighs. His hand pumped his hard, throbbing cock, imagining Clint’s body pressed against his, pressing Bucky into the door. Clint was taller, and stronger than he looked. What if that was _Clint’s _hand wrapped around his cock? What if that was _Clint’_s thumb sliding over the head, teasing the slit, spreading pre-come around?

The slick slide of his cock thrusting up into his fist was loud in the all too quiet room. Bucky groaned deep in his throat, his teeth biting harder into his lip.

What if _Clint _was nipping at his mouth? Begging for entry – Bucky gasped, his lips parting and his hand speeding up, hips moving desperately.

His metal hand curled into the door with an ominous creak. Would Clint like Bucky’s hand on his skin? Dream Clint did – was rather fascinated by the hand, not scared of it in the slightest.

By the time Bucky was imagining those lips around his cock, those _eyes _staring up at him, he was coming with a low cry all over his hand and the rest of his gear.

He slumped back against the door and slid down bonelessly. The only way that could have been better was if Clint had been there, hadn’t just been Bucky’s imagination. But Bucky wasn’t exactly the kind of guy that got what he wanted. He just wasn’t that lucky.

Thank Fuck JARVIS wouldn’t tattle tale about his laundry misadventures.

That night, dream Clint was sad, Bucky’s fears of what real life Clint would think of Bucky avoiding him playing out in his dreams. Fuck if that didn’t hurt. Somehow, Bucky wound up playing dream therapist while resolving _not _to run away from Clint anymore, because what if real life Clint was thinking everything dream Clint did.

His dreams grew more complicated from than on. As often as it was steamy – and boy, did they get steamy - there were also long cuddle sessions and serious talks. They talked about their pasts, their nightmares, all those things Bucky couldn’t say in the cold light of day in his therapist’s office, all those words that wouldn’t make it past his lips.

Dream Clint reciprocated, tales of the circus and Loki and his family that sounded vaguely familiar, stuff he had to have heard somewhere else before but he couldn’t remember ever hearing this detail or that.

Bucky had thought things were bad enough as the status quo, but then one morning, after a particularly rough dream of sharing things that were all too painful, Bucky ran into Clint in the common room. He’d jerked awake from his dream in a particularly emotionally charged moment and been unable to go back to sleep, his heart pounding.

So Bucky had made his way to the elevator, to the common floor a few floors down from his and proceeded to raid the kitchen for something soothing.

Moments after he started putting together soup – something that also, incidentally, kept his hands busy and would result in a bone deep warmth – Clint had wandered in, looking quite unsettled.

He’d frozen and blinked at Bucky, rubbing at his arms, clearly debating if he stuck around or not. but he pushed forward in those too long sweatpants, naked from the waist up and Bucky did his damndest not to stare because Clint was just the same as he saw in his dreams, and he wanted to lick him all over, trace those scars with his tongue, hold Clint gently the way he deserved but had confessed he never got.

No. _Dream Clint_ had confessed that. Not the real Clint.

This was bad. This was really bad. If Bucky wasn’t going to be able to distinguish reality from a dream… maybe he shouldn’t be on active duty with the avengers. That meant he was dangerous.

He swallowed, watching his hands going through the motions of chopping up onions while pretending that everything was normal as Clint set the coffee pot going.

“What’s up, Buck?” Clint asked, leaning against the counter as the coffee pot gurgled. His voice was… off, and Bucky’s fingers slowed. He risked a glance over at Clint.

“Nothing,” he said finally. His voice was flat, even to himself.

Clint nudged him with a bare foot to his shin and he looked over. Oh. He grimaced, held up a finger, finished chopping the onions and set down the knife before signing. Clint hadn’t worn his aids, likely because he hadn’t expected anybody to be there. Despite the shitty track record all the avengers had when it came to sleep, it _was _the middle of the night.

Clint grunted at Bucky’s answer. “Yeah, right, that’s why you’re out here making food in the middle of the night?”

“Same could be said for you,” Bucky pointed out, gesturing at the coffee machine. “If you were intending to fall back asleep, you wouldn’t be making coffee.”

Clint grinned sheepishly and scratched at his head, Bucky’s eyes sliding over his stretched torso before snapping back up. “Yeah, you got me there.”

Before he knew it, Clint had made coffee for both of them and then was stepping into Bucky’s space and seamlessly sliding in to help him with the soup.

“What are we makin’ anyway?” Clint asked.

“Potato soup. Found one I liked, though I changed a few things.”

“Oh right, is it that one that reminds you of your ma’s cookin’?” Clint asked, working on the bacon.

Bucky froze. He’d never talked about his mom to Clint. No, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t talked about his mom to the _real _Clint, only the dream one. Those hopelessly domestic dreams where he could believe in a better future, pretend the past hadn’t happened at all, that he wasn’t the Winter Soldier –

“How do you know that?” he asked gruffly as Clint frowned at him when he didn’t answer.

His frowned deepened as he stared at Bucky. “Well, you told me. Didn’t you?” he asked, uncertainty running through his voice, falling into his posture. His hand stilled and the bacon sizzled and popped unnoticed, Clint not even flinching when it hit his bare skin.

“Jesus, doll, get away from the stove if you’re not going to pay attention,” Bucky said, his voice thick, his hands shaking as he put the knife down and pulled Clint away. He turned off the heat and checked Clint’s skin, but he didn’t seem to have been hit too badly.

“Bucky, I – “ Clint started, shook his head and took a deep breath. “You know why I’m out here right now?”

“Bad dream?” Bucky said. “I mean, it’s not that hard to guess. It’s why any of us start haunting the tower at night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… the thing is… it wasn’t… it wasn’t _my _bad dream. I mean, it was, but it was more…” he struggled, visibly struggled for the words, jittering back and forth, hands in his hair. “For me, I felt… hopeless – no, more like… like _helpless_… as I watched someone I cared for struggle with things I couldn’t help with. I was frozen, and when I reached out _anyway_, they were gone. And I thought… it’s a typical dream. It sucked, but, well… a lot of my dreams do.”

“Only, they haven’t. Not as much recently. Like some kind of switch had been flipped. I’ve been dreaming more about good things than bad, always… always the same person, someone I… I want to be with but can’t. In my dreams, we can. And those dreams, I don’t want to wake up from,” Clint said.

Bucky stared at him.

What were the odds that their dreams were similar? Clint had given no content, but some of the format seemed the same. Not always nightmares, all of a sudden. Dreams about a life to be shared with the person you care for. Being there for someone.

Bucky’s last dream, where he’d talked about how lost he felt in this new century. How much he missed his ma, and his sisters. How sometimes even Steve wasn’t enough to ground him in the here and now.

He’d been feeling particularly sorry for himself all day leading up to throwing himself onto his bed and attempting to sleep, as it had been his mom’s birthday. He’d kept himself busy, kept himself from thinking about it, had avoided Steve’s well-meaning attempts to have a heart to heart about it - but then he’d fallen asleep, and _dream_ Clint had been there, and Bucky had felt comfortable for the first time all day, falling into his arms and crying as he talked about his mom, as he let himself take the solace he didn’t allow himself to have when awake.

Clint’s face had been filled with pain but Bucky hadn’t felt the slightest bit of guilt of heaping any of this on him, because it was a _dream. _

He could say anything in a dream without fear of what people would think of him, or how upset they’d get with him because it wasn’t _real_.

Only now, he wasn’t so sure.

But it wasn’t possible, was it?

There was only one way to test that theory but if Bucky was wrong… but oh god, if Bucky was _right… _Clint had told him things too, things Bucky _knew _that he’d never would have said aloud. He racked his brain for something, anything, they’d said or done in a dream that wouldn’t upset either of them in some way but he was failing hard.

Still, he picked something a little less volatile then their painful pasts. If he was wrong, it would be embarrassing, but he’d live. If he was right, it would be embarrassing – but maybe lead to something more?

“Did you, uh, y’know, the day we fought that fucker on the Brooklynn Bridge, did you really jerk off in the team shower to the thought of how I looked when I climbed out of the river?” Bucky asked softly, pushing his hair back so Clint could see his lips cleanly, attempting to punctuate the words with sign. His heart pounded as he watched Clint carefully.

Clint’s eyes widened, his lips parted on a silent sound and his cheeks flushed. His breathing picked up a little before he swallowed and slowly, very slowly, nodded.

“Did you really go back to that café and threaten the barista who’d made fun of me for being deaf?” Clint asked, crowding closer into Bucky’s space. “Was it really you who stole my favorite hoody just so you could sleep with it? Did you… did you really freak out when I was laid up in medical last month?”

Bucky’s breath shuddered out. Those were _all _things he’d admitted to in his dream. He closed his eyes and let out a single word. “Yes.”

The sound Clint made had Bucky’s eyes popping back open in concern. “Clint?”

“You _fucker_,” Clint said, slapping his hand against Bucky’s chest.

Oh god. Clint was pissed. At least it hadn’t been a punch, though it wouldn’t have done any damage to Bucky. Dammit, Bucky had _known_ Clint would be upset to know he’d spilled his secrets to the real Bucky. That it wasn’t a dream person he’d confided in, but his teammate that he’d have to see, day in and day out.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky managed. “I didn’t know… I don’t… didn’t mean to pry… I’m sorry…”

“You _avoided _me,” Clint growled out, pushing forward. “You made me think you were _mad _at me, that I’d done something wrong and all this time…”

Bucky blinked, backed up a step, then another, and quickly found himself crowded against the counter, Clint’s hands coming down to grip the countertop on either side of Bucky’s hips. “Uh…” Something wasn’t clicking right in his head, the words Clint was saying wasn’t quite what he’d expected to hear. The anger in Clint’s voice seemed to be… over something else?

“All this time, we both had big, dumb crushes on each other _and said nothing.”_

Clint’s head fell onto his chest and his body started shaking. It took Bucky a few seconds to realize he was _laughing. _It took Clint a lot longer to calm down, and by then, Bucky had risked wrapping his arms around Clint, had risked running his hands up and down Clint’s back.

Big dumb crushes. On each other. As in, it was mutual. It wasn’t just a dream. And Clint didn’t seem angry about the dreamsharing they’d somehow done, but more about Bucky’s actions toward him in the daylight hours.

Which, really, Bucky couldn’t blame him. He would have been just as devastated thinking he’d done something to make Clint avoid _him_. And Clint – _dream _Clint, who’d been the real Clint after all – had confided in Bucky about his insecurities: being a normal human on a team of super heroes, the one always overlooked. How even his own father hated him… how the only thing he’d ever figured gave him any worth was being Hawkeye, being good with a bow, never missing.

But he was so much more than that and Bucky had tried to tell the dream Clint that but dream Clint had smiled sadly and looked away, saying, “If only that were true.”

And now Bucky understood, because Clint had thought it all a dream, that the words had come from inside him and it was only his own wishful thinking.

He pulled Clint closer, his throat tight as he did, Bucky’s hands stilling reflexively as he tightened his grip and his head nudged down into Clint’s short, spikey mess. He felt a wave of relief flood through him when Clint reciprocated, when his strong arms shifted and slid around Bucky to encase him in warm, human heat, giving Bucky the human contact he so often craved but was too scared to ask for.

Steve offered, but he was most often consumed with Tony these days that Bucky was left alone. He didn’t want to get in their way, to stop Steve from being happy. Steve deserved to be happy after all the shit in their lives.

Dream Clint had told him Bucky deserved it too, but Bucky had thought it was his own mind, his own selfishness coming to the fore.

Suddenly, he needed to know. He drew his arm in, wiggled it between them and gently nudged clint’s head to look up at Bucky from where he’d tucked himself in, right at home – and oh, how good that felt.

“What does this mean?” Bucky asked. “Where – where are we going with this?”

Clint frowned and drew back further, Bucky making an unhappy sound when Clint pushed away from him, was no longer touching him. “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “We like each other, we’ve already shared the worst and best of ourselves in our dreams – there’s nobody that knows me the way you do – and I find I’m… grateful for it, however that happened. I’ve wanted to be together with you for so long. The real version of you, the dream version too, and knowing they are one and the same… only makes it _easier_.”

Shifting closer again, Clint’s arms moved to drop over Bucky’s’ shoulders, Clint straightening up to look slightly down on Bucky again. “I want to be with you, for as long as you can put up with my disaster ass.”

“God, yes, doll,” Bucky breathed. “I want that too.”

He edged closer, Bucky’s hands coming up to cup Clint’s jaw, his cheek, drawing him down and their noses touching gently. He exhaled softly as he hovered over Clint’s lips, watching Clint’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth parting in invitation.

Bucky groaned, grazing his lips lightly over Clint’s, teasing with chaste kisses until Clint whimpered and surged forward, locking their lips together in a wet glide. Hands slid into Bucky’s hair, tugging, and he gasped, Clint taking full advantage of it, slipping his tongue between Bucky’s lips. They moved together, kissing deeply, hungrily, tongues tangling and sending thrills through Bucky’s body.

By the tremor beneath his hands, Clint felt the same.

Clint moved, his mouth sucking kisses along Bucky’s jaw, following a trail he’d blazed a hundred times in Bucky’s – in _their _– dreams, hitting all those secret places Bucky had wished Clint would find for real. It felt so much _better _in reality than in the dream and Bucky groaned, hands falling to Clint’s shoulders, gripping those muscles that often drove him crazy. His hips rocked up and Clint bit down sharply as their cocks met.

“Fuck, yeah,” Clint muttered in Bucky’s ear before sucking on the lobe. Bucky shuddered against Clint, relishing in the full body press, in Clint covering him so completely, their hips rocking gently together, rolling.

It wasn’t long before Bucky was coming in his sleep pants to Clint grinding down on him, his head thrown back with Clint’s lips on his neck, on that one spot that made Bucky’s’ legs turn to jelly.

His hands dropped further, spreading over Clint’s naked back, sliding down and gripping Clint’s hip bones where they peaked up over his soft sweatpants and he shuddered, yanking Clint down, wanting him impossibly closer.

He rode out his orgasm, his fingers flexing desperately and then Clint came too. Clint slumped against Bucky, still lazily nibbling along his neck, hips jerking restlessly against Bucky’s now oversensitive cock. They were both sticky and wet and suddenly all Bucky wanted to do was go back to bed – with Clint in his arms.

They stood there a few moments, catching their breath and letting the counter hold them up before Bucky tilted up to kiss Clint again and to catch his eyes. “Let’s go get some sleep, hey?”

“Hmmm…” Clint said dopily, a happy little grin over his face. “Okay, that sounds good. My place or yours?”

“Mine’s closer,” Bucky whispered. Clint grinned and nodded. With his arms still wrapped around Clint, he encouraged Clint to start moving backwards till he they could walk together back to the elevator.

Clint pressed him back against the wall as they elevator moved, JARVIS having to clear his throat several times when it dropped them off. As soon as they were inside, Bucky made the executive decision to take a shower first. Clint took all of 1 second to agree.

They were too tired to do much of anything other than clean each other off between kisses, and soon they were dropping off to sleep, naked in each other’s arms. 

* * *

**Bonus scene**

Bruce stared at the chaos in the kitchen, all the chopped and unchopped vegetables splayed across the counter, some mashed into the floor, the half-cooked bacon on the stove and two mugs of partially drunk coffee leaving rings on the counter.

“What happened here?” Steve asked, joining Bruce, Tony draped like a limpet over his back, eyes closed, drool pooling into Steve’s shirt.

“I wish I knew,” Bruce said, scratching his head. “Unless I’ve taken up sleep cooking.” He looked at Steve in horror. “Oh god, what if I did? I could have burned the place down!”

Natasha appeared beside them so suddenly, both Steve and Bruce jumped a little. “Don’t worry, Bruce. This was all James and Clint’s doing. Look at the mugs, it was obviously them.”

“Or just ask JARVIS,” Tony muttered sleepily. “All common areas are fair game.”

Steve blanched, face going as white as a sheet. “Uh… they are?”

Sam, having just arrived and only now stepping past Steve and Tony stopped, blinked at Steve and the rest of them. He closed his eyes and groaned. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask. I have to _eat _here, you jerks.”

* * *

**Bonus scene 2**

“Y’know, I’ve been wondering,” Bucky said slowly. “Should we be worried about the fact we’ve been in each other’s dreams?”

Clint blinked at him over his coffee, their feet tangling under the table. “Nope. Why would we? It was a good thing, wasn’t it? It brought us together, brought us here, after all.”

Bucky shook his head, his teeth worrying at his lip. “Of course I’m glad about that, that _is _good. Don’t regret a thing. But i don’t like the idea that someone else has been tampering in my head, even if it got good results.”

With a sigh, Clint put the mug down and turned to Bucky, grabbing Bucky’s hand and linking their fingers together. “Okay, you’re absolutely right. I don’t like that bit either and we probably _should _figure out the how, why and who. But if this winds up to be another dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

“Me neither,” Bucky whispered, pulling Clint onto his lap, Clint scrambling ungracefully in the process. The coffee was forgotten as they kissed, the elevator doors unheard as they opened and shut.

“Friend Hawk, Friend Barnes, greetings,” Thor boomed, startling them apart. “I came to help you fend off a cruel trick of my brothers, a small _gift _he left behind in your mind – fairly harmless, though possibly uncomfortable - but I fear I have interrupted your bliss instead.”

Bucky and Clint stared at Thor, and Bucky could see the wheels turning in Cint’s head. “Wait – was it _Loki’s_ fault Buck and I have been sharing dreams?”

“I am afraid it is true,” Thor conceded sadly. “My most sincerest of apologies – “

“Don’t,” Clint said, looking back at Bucky with so much love it made Bucky’s heart stutter. “I think we owe Loki a fruit basket.”

Bucky nodded, smiling into Clint’s kiss as Thor stood their looking at them with perplexed bemusement.

Midgard was most strange.


End file.
